You know, as long as there were ice cream breaks, I would totally eat chips for a living.
Hes a 32 yr old divorced sailor that calls me almost every night drunk begging me to call him big daddy. I think i might need to change my number.
i asked why he had a giant piece of popcorn duct taped to his head and he said "No, it's actually part of my neck." so no, i didn't fuck him.
found used condoms and an omlet in my uggs. I'm disgusted but not surprised.
Pretty sure even her dog was surprised when I got that blow job.
there is beer in every square inch of this apartment and he hasn't even lived in it for 24 hours. we're playing some game that involves slamming beer, beer pong and smacking people's cups out of their hands.
Frozen pudding on a popsicle stick. Bill Cosby would be so proud of drunk me.
I'm pregnant.
The fact that this number is not in my contacts is giving me hope it's a wrong number???
I have to finish a biography for history and write a review on it so naturally I was like "getting high will make this more bearable" and now I'm basically inside the book at the revolutionary war with this guy.
Just found my glass of wine on top of the litter box. Every argument ever is invalid.
I need someone to play with my boobs. Even platonically. I just need a good groping
He has an accent when he types. I can *hear* the schnitzel. Especially when he's drunk.
I think I died and satan has brought me back to life and I'm paying for my sins with this hangover
We were covered in sweat and glitter, making out onstage, in front of everyone. I think it was a good night.
This is your post bachelor party survival text. This a free and complementary service to make sure you are still alive. For alive, say yes. For hurting, say ugh. If lost, say help. If dead, please feel free to not respond. Thank you and we hope you enjoyed the party.
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